


Hold On

by ck90



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, BAMF Karen Page, F/M, Light Angst, Punisher!Karen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ck90/pseuds/ck90
Summary: A bruised and battered Punisher, Karen Page meets up with the only person who doesn't believe she's a monster, Frank Castle.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FortySevens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/gifts).



> Since I blame FortySevens for everything, I'm shifting all responsibility for this ficlet onto her since she posted a thing about villains falling in love with the heroes and one scenario involved a scarf. This wasn't supposed to even exist since I was neck-deep in crazysauce NaNo. The original idea was a Bat/Cat drabble. Then it was supposed to be a much darker ending. So yeah, I blame FortySevens :) 
> 
> I haven't done much of an edit so forewarned.

It was cold. No, she was freezing her butt off. Which was nothing out of the ordinary for a January night in New York. She should be in that shitty hovel the landlord had the balls to call an apartment. Should lick her wounds and clean her weapons. Should go over the intel that Turk had given up after only one threat. Either she’s gotten meaner or the small-time wannabe gangster had gotten soft on her. She should memorize the faces of the Devil Dogs who were stupid enough to make a deal with the Mexican Cartel. 

But no. She was here. Again. With him. Again. At the river. Again.

Somehow this had become their spot. She didn’t know how or when, but it definitely was now. Too many cold night meetings to be anything else.

She watched the full, very kissable lips move as he talked. Not that she would kiss him, but she could think about it in the dark corner of her soul where she allowed herself some pleasant thoughts or memories. If she was truthful, just being near him was cathartic even when he was scolding her about the bruises on her face, the split lip and _God only knew what else_. 

Karen sunk deeper into her coat. It was good that he didn’t know about the broken ribs, the two-inch gash on her thigh that was still oozing onto the black jeans. There were other contusions on her back and her shoulder was killing her from when she jumped down three - maybe four - floors before grabbing the railing to stop her momentum. Her eyes closed as she rode through the hot throbbing burn that pulled at the damaged muscles. All she wanted was to crawl into a fetal position and not move for a week.

No time for self-pity. _Are you a warrior or whiner, Marine!_

The pain dulled and her eyes opened. Frank was still talking. Scolding. Pleading. They had this conversation more than once. 

_She couldn’t keep this up forever._ Debatable. 

_One day someone would get lucky and she wouldn’t get back up._ Eventually. Yeah. Probably. But not yet.

 _How much more blood had to be shed before her need for vengeance was sated?_ All of it. The streets would run red with the blood of those responsible for the massacre of her family.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t listening, she was, just not focusing on his words necessarily. He looked good. Damn, he looked good. And cold. Who the hell goes out at night in January without a scarf?

She couldn’t stand it anymore. With the arm that only ached, she undid the scarf around her neck and held it out to him.

Frank stopped talking. Looked at the scarf. Her. The scarf. He took it, without thinking and started to put it around his neck, then paused for one very long second as the fabric brushed against his face.

He looked confused like he’d lost his train of thought or… Did he…? She would chew a bullet if he didn’t just sniff her scarf.

“You were scolding me.” Those dark, expressive eyes that spoke volumes embraced her, holding tight and she almost… No! She pulled herself together. “Blah, blah, blood, death. Killing. Bad.” She looked at him expectantly. Wanting that knee-jerk, do-gooder reaction that would get her out of this… _whatever_ that was way more dangerous to her than any gangland shootout.

“I want there to be an after. For you.” His voice was raspy, low, and wrecked.

She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as stars pricked at her vision. Frank noticed, closing the distance between them, hand reaching out to comfort, but she couldn’t let him. Couldn’t give in to this ever-growing need that was burning inside her. Threatening to snuff out her vengeance. If he touched her, she’d want more. Want to sink into his warmth and never leave.

Karen had thought there was nothing left to break. To hurt. But looking in those warm, expressive eyes and she knew there was still something left. If she let him in, he’d have the power to hurt her. Destroy what was left. To stop her from her mission. And she’d let him.

She couldn’t let him in. “Do you think there’s a happy ending for me? That after all I’ve done, there’s some light at the end of the tunnel and everything is going to be all right. Go back to normal, whatever the hell that is.”

“Karen—”

“I don’t want to.” The lie came out of her mouth so easily even if she’d never done it before. At least, not to Frank. 

“I don’t want to stop.” This was hurting her more than all the bruises and stab wounds and half-healed bullet holes in her body. “This is who I am. All I am! You can’t be a part of this. I won't let you throw away everything for me.”

“Do you think that anything you’ve done changes how I feel about you?”

“It should.” Came out as a strangled cry. She was barely holding it together now.

“It doesn’t.”

Those words. What he was saying - without actually saying… It hit like a sledgehammer. Jesus Christ. He can’t. Couldn’t. She’d thought the broken ribs made it hard to breathe, but the meaning behind those words where… _Goddammit, Frank!_

He saw the conflict, the indecision in her eyes and moved. “We’ll figure this out. Together. You and me.” His hand brushed a stray strand of blonde hair away from her eyes.

“Frank—”

He kissed her. It wasn’t a proper kiss. Just the corner of her mouth because he was being ever so conscious of her split lip. She could taste a hint of coffee from his lips. Those soft, kissable lips.

She could allow herself just one kiss, couldn’t she? Karen angled her mouth towards his, sliding her tongue against his lips. The sound he made was sinful. 

Screw the split lip, the broken ribs, and bruises. She threw her arms around those broad shoulders, pulling him closer. Her tongue slid into his mouth. It was a mistake. A horrible, wonderful mistake and she was where she belonged. Home. 

_He was her home._

If it was hard to leave him before, it would be impossible now. 

And they both knew it.


End file.
